


End Where You Began

by sarcasticsra



Series: dark!Michael AU [2]
Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Character, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, References to Past Child Abuse, Torture, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticsra/pseuds/sarcasticsra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Larry and Michael take a detour to Miami. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End Where You Began

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the same AU as [The Path That Leads To Nowhere](http://archiveofourown.org/works/366332), wherein Larry had much more time to bring Michael over to the dark side, and thus succeeded. Title comes from the song "Dear Agony" by Breaking Benjamin. Thank you for the beta, Abigail!

“Where to next?” Larry asked, idly tapping his thumb against the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing on the radio. Michael was staring out the window, brooding, and had been for the past twenty miles. It was so like the kid to get stuck in his own head.

Michael glanced over at him, his face an impassive mask. Larry liked this already. Michael only put on that face when he was thinking about some wonderfully nasty things. “Miami,” he said, and his tone made it not so much a destination as a _threat_.

Larry arched an eyebrow, quickly looking in his direction. “Home sweet home?”

“There’s something I need to do.”

It figured. “This have anything to do with the way our latest deadee treated his son?” He’d been a vicious sonuvabitch, which had only made his death that much sweeter. The ones who thought they were tough were always fun to kill. They actually thought they had a _chance_. It was cute.

Michael had been particularly hands-on for that one, he recalled. He’d guessed why at the time; this just confirmed it.

“Just reminded me I have unfinished business,” he said.

“Business, kid?” Larry said, switching lanes. “You’re going home to kill your father. There’s no reason it can’t also be pleasure.”

Michael smiled. Larry grinned at all the dark, delicious things it promised.

\---

“Who do you want to be for this one?” Larry said, idling the car just before they would pull into the valet station for the hotel.

“I’ve got Steve Hardison in my bag,” Michael said, reaching into the backseat to grab it. “You?”

Pulling out his wallet, he looked through several IDs. “Hmm, I’ll be Daniel Parker. His credit card is right on top.” He tucked the extras into the top zip pocket of Michael’s bag. “Ready to be my arm candy?”

Michael smirked, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. “Are we going with _personal assistant_?” He used air quotes around the words.

“It’s a fun one,” Larry said, eyeing Michael up and down. “We’ll have to get you some new clothes while we’re here.” 

“In the meantime, someone fucked up the reservation, our last hotel was deeply dissatisfying, something like that. It’ll explain why we look a little rumpled.”

“Perfect.”

They pulled up to the valet station. Larry wasted no time in getting out, fixing the valet and the bellhop that greeted them with a firm stare. “If I find a scratch, I’ll have your head,” he said, tossing him the keys and a fifty. “Be careful with the bags. Keep up.” He stalked inside, an air of haughty authority about him, sure Michael was close behind him.

“Save your pleasantries, your competitors are morons, and that’s the only reason I drove an hour to get here. You’d better have a suite available,” he said as soon as he reached the reception desk, handing over his—well, Daniel Parker’s—credit card and ID.

To her credit, the woman behind the desk took them with an easy smile and an, “Of course, sir, just one moment.” She booked the room with a few quick keystrokes and handed back his card and ID, as well as two room keycards. “Ewan will show you to your room.”

Larry turned to see Michael flirting with Ewan, and hid a smirk. Instead, he snapped, “Steven, what have I told you about talking to the help?”

Michael’s eyeroll was just the right balance between subtle and noticeable. “Yes, sir,” he said. Larry loved watching Michael play bored gold-digger. He did it so well.

Ewan-the-bellhop led them to the elevator and up to their penthouse suite, and after he left (Larry stiffed him a tip so Michael could give it to him “behind his back”), Michael grinned and advanced on him. “I have fun watching you do that.”

“Feeling’s mutual, kid,” Larry said, grinning back at Michael as he sunk onto the couch, Michael straddling him as he did.

He smirked. “Even with Ewan?”

“What, you didn’t think I was _jealous_?”

“C’mon, Larry, can you really act that well?”

Oh, he was _asking_ for it.

There was a fresh bruise on his right hip, one Larry left there two nights ago. Instead of answering, he pinched it, hard.

Michael shuddered and jerked against him, that smartass faux-coy expression vanishing, and Larry smirked. “Not jealous, kid,” he said, voice like gravel. “No one else could hurt you _just_ the way you like.”

“Yeah?” The fire blazing in Michael’s eyes could burn down Miami. “Prove it.”

\---

“How do you want to do this?” Larry asked him, curiously, later that evening.

“Hands on,” said Michael, without any hesitation. “I want him to know it was me. I want to see that realization in his eyes. I want it to _hurt_ , like nothing he’s ever felt before, and I want it to take _days_.”

It was almost a shame they’d already gone a few rounds. Hearing Michael talk like that always got his blood going. “That’s going to take some research.”

“I know,” Michael said, and grinned Larry’s favorite grin, vicious and full of promise. “I’m going to do it right.”

“I’ll help, of course. However you want,” he said, licking his lips. “Just as long as you let me watch.”

Michael nodded, the gesture saying, _of course_.

This was going to be _fantastic_.

\---

“So this is where the infamous Michael Westen grew up,” Larry said as they got out of the car, a boring green sedan that wouldn’t be easy to identify.

“We’ve got a few blocks to go,” said Michael.

According to him, the busybodies in his old neighborhood would notice a strange car idling nearby. That was why they were dressed in their Sunday best, carrying a couple bibles and plenty of pamphlets, because Jehovah’s Witnesses were a _great_ cover for walking aimlessly around a strange neighborhood.

Also, the very concept just made Larry smile.

“How long do you want to tail him?” he asked.

“Probably a few days. Long enough to figure out a pattern, determine when and where the best place is to grab him.”

“We’ll need to find a good location for the party, too,” said Larry. He brightened suddenly, looking past Michael’s shoulder. “This promises to be one heck of a picnic. Excuse me, ma’am, can I interest you in a pamphlet?”

Their onlooker, a short middle-aged woman with bright red hair, briefly made a face, then shot them a polite, if unconvincing, smile. Honestly, why bother trying if you were going to be that obvious about it? “No, thank you,” she said, quickly retrieving her mail and beating a path back to her house.

“I love this cover,” Larry said, grinning.

Michael snorted. “You’re going to end up converting someone before the day is over, aren’t you?”

“One can only hope, kid.”

They walked the next couple blocks in relative silence, both taking in their surroundings. When Michael slowed suddenly, Larry followed his gaze, across the street and three houses down from where they were standing. An older man, who looked, quite frankly, like someone had already beaten the crap out of him, shambled slowly toward the mailbox.

“Hungover?” he asked, not that he didn’t already know the answer. He just wanted to see Michael’s jaw clench.

“I wouldn’t bet against it.”

“That’ll make it easy.”

Michael pulled a small zipped case out of his inside suit pocket. “I’ve got the tracker and the bugs,” he said, opening it and pulling out two small items before zipping it back up and handing it over. “Think you’ll be able to talk your way inside?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask that,” Larry said, sending him a sharp look.

Michael just looked amused. “I should be able to get to his car without anyone seeing me.”

“Meet you back at the car when I’m done,” said Larry, striding across the street, toward the house.

He knocked on the door, and the woman who had to be Michael’s mother answered. Madeline Westen looked both exhausted and irritated, and Larry smiled, but not toothily. This woman would slam the door in his face if he were too cheerful. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said. “I was wondering if you had a few minutes to talk.”

She arched an eyebrow, clearly taking in his clothes and the bible in his hands. “You want to talk?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“No thanks. I’m not interested,” she said, and started to close the door.

“In this?” he asked, raising the bible. 

She paused, nodding and giving him an expectant look.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Understandable, actually. You don’t know me. Talking about religion with a stranger…well, it’s just awkward, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Madeline said slowly, and now she was appraising him. It explained where Michael got that particular skill. “Isn’t it your job to talk about religion?”

“Yes, and no,” he said, and shrugged. “I prefer to just talk to people, myself. If religion comes up, great. If not, then I’ve still met someone new.”

“Madeline, just tell him to go the fuck away,” called a voice from further inside the house, and that irritation in her eyes came into sharper focus.

“If you’re busy, I certainly wouldn’t want to intrude,” said Larry, because talk about an opening. He supposed it shouldn’t be a surprise that Michael also got his stubborn streak from his mother.

“No,” she said, and forced a cheerful smile. It didn’t cover the stubborn defiance in her expression. “We’re not busy at all. Why don’t you come in? I could get us something to drink, and we could…talk.”

Larry smiled again. “That sounds wonderful.”

\---

Michael gave him an incredulous look when he finally showed back up at the car. “You talked for an _hour_.”

“Well, meeting the parents,” Larry said, grinning and sliding into the driver’s seat. “Big step. I had to make a good first impression.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tracker’s in place,” he said. “And another bug in the car. We’ll know if he goes anywhere.”

“Excellent,” he said. “Let’s take this someplace more comfortable until then.”

“Steve Hardison still needs new clothes,” he pointed out.

“So does Daniel Parker,” Larry agreed. “That works.”

“Make sure it’s one of those boutiques that serve alcohol.”

Larry snorted. “We _have_ done this before, kid.”

\---

They were just finishing up their shopping when the tracker in Michael’s pocket beeped. “He’s on the move,” he said, in a low voice.

Larry nodded, handing over a credit card for their purchases before the cashier had even finished reading the total. It wasn’t a record, which meant he didn’t really care. “Have everything delivered,” he said, absently, handing the cashier their hotel’s card with their suite information scrawled on it.

They left the store a minute later, and the tracker led them to a dingy bar that, if Larry had to guess, was probably run by a bookie. “Charming place,” he said, surveying the entrance, noting the alleyway just next door, and wondering how hard it would be to get to the back exit.

“That’s my father,” said Michael, under his breath. “Charm all over.”

“I don’t see any cameras,” he said. “I’m guessing the clientele isn’t terribly observant, and that alley looks like it has easy access and is essentially one large blind spot. If he comes here regularly, this might be the spot to grab him.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing.” Michael nodded, eyes narrowed. “I’m going to check out the alley.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

Larry figured the bar’s blueprints wouldn’t be that hard to get if they needed them—one of them could con their way into the city records building without much trouble—but that would probably only have to be backup. 

When Michael exited the alley a few minutes later, he was wobbling as he walked. Interesting. After he made it back, he muttered, “There was a drunk back there throwing up. They make them do it out there so they don’t get it all over the bathrooms.”

“Oh, that’s good,” he said. “So we just have to make sure he drinks enough to throw up. Or, even better, slip him something to help him along.”

“You’ll get the poison,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. Good. Larry would have had to cut him if it had been, and given the smirk on Michael’s face, he knew that.

“I’ll get the poison,” he said. “And I’ll establish a pattern—I’m guessing he comes here most nights, if not every night, but we’ll need to be sure.”

“That leaves me to find a location and a vehicle,” he said.

Larry rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be _fun_.”

\---

Unsurprisingly, over the next few days, the tracker showed Frank ending up at the same bar every night, from nine to closing, around two in the morning.

“I love predictable targets,” Larry said, humming to himself as he pored over the blueprints for the drug store he’d be hitting.

“I’ve got our location,” Michael said, coming into the bedroom. “And I know where to get our vehicle.”

“Then tomorrow’s going to be show-time, because I’m getting the poison tonight,” Larry said, smiling as he circled his in. “This place is going to have a very… _unfortunate_ fire.”

Michael smirked. “Can I tag along?”

“You want to watch?” He leered.

“You know I do.”

They grinned at each other.

\---

“This is the best part,” Larry said. “It’ll make him throw up, and then it’ll make him pass out.”

“Think he’ll recognize you?”

“He was barely conscious when I talked to Madeline, and only in the room for about five minutes,” Larry said. “I doubt it, but either way, I don’t plan on sticking around.” He stuck the hat on, careful to have it cover as much of his face as possible.

Michael dropped him off in front of the bar; no one even glanced up when he walked in, not even the bartender. He took a seat next to Frank and ordered a double scotch on the rocks.

Frank was staring into space, eyes unfocused, and not remotely paying attention, which made it sickeningly easy to dose his drink. 

Larry finished his, paid, and left without any incident whatsoever. He met Michael in the alley, where he was waiting with the van. “It won’t be long now.”

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Frank stumbled through the back entrance and doubled over, throwing up right on the pavement. He barely even struggled as they grabbed him and got him in the van, and by the time he was safely tied up and they were on their way, he’d completely passed out.

\---

Larry watched from the shadows as Frank stirred, eyes opening slowly, and squinting as he got used to the light. “What the fuck?” he muttered, and tried to move. Larry smirked as it dawned on him that he couldn’t. “What the _fuck_?” he repeated.

Stepping closer, into the light, he said, “You can struggle if you want, but there isn’t much point. You’re not going anywhere.”

Frank squinted up at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Me?” Larry asked, grinning. “Oh, I’m just a spectator. This isn’t my show.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Kid,” he called. “Come entertain your guest. It’s a little rude to keep him waiting, don’t you think?”

Michael stepped out of the shadows. He grinned his most terrifying grin, the one Larry had taught him. “Hi, Dad.”

Ashen-faced, Frank stared at Michael like he was seeing a ghost—which, technically, Larry supposed he was, since they were both officially dead. “Michael,” he breathed. “You’re…you’re…they told us you were dead!”

“I know,” he said, impassively. “That was the plan.”

“The plan? What are you talking about?”

“I faked my death. We both did.” He indicated Larry. “This is Larry, by the way.”

Larry waggled a few fingers at Frank in a quick wave.

“You…it’s been seven years!” Frank said. “Me, your mother, Nate, we all thought—and you did that on _purpose_?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Nicely done. That almost sounded genuine.”

“How could you do this to your _family_ —”

“You don’t give a _damn_ about your family,” Michael snarled suddenly, voice low and murderous. He punched Frank square in the gut, plenty of power behind it.

Frank wheezed. “I fucked up,” he gasped. “I did.”

“Yes, you did,” Michael said, tone icy. “And now you’re going to pay for it.”

“Michael, please—”

“How does it feel, Dad?” Michael asked, voice low, as he let fly a flurry of punches. “How does it feel to be on that side of this?”

Frank didn’t answer. Michael kept hitting him.

\---

“I’ll watch him, kid,” Larry said, once Frank had slumped over in his chair, knocked unconscious. “You can make sure his car won’t be found for a few days.” He glanced at the folding table in the room, an unopened briefcase sitting on top. “I’ll even wait for you before I check out your…supplies.”

They shared a smirk at the word.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Take your time.” He turned around the extra chair, sitting on it backwards, and watched Frank, noticing how thoroughly his face had been worked over. He was sure his chest was a mess of bruises, too, and Larry wouldn’t be surprised if he had a couple cracked ribs by now. Michael had always had an excellent technique.

Frank actually woke up again on his own, about thirty minutes in, and he cast around wildly and blearily for a moment before it all visibly came rushing back to him. Larry smiled. “Morning, sunshine.”

He spat some blood onto the floor. “Where’s Michael?”

“He’ll be back, don’t worry,” he said. “Just gone to make sure we don’t get interrupted. There’s a lot of fun left to be had.”

“Fun,” said Frank. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Michael’s angry at me, I get that, he has the right, but what the hell do you get out of this?”

“So many things,” Larry said. “For one, I get to watch Michael in action, and I really, _really_ enjoy that.”

Frank stiffened in his chair, giving him a disgusted look. “Don’t you dare touch him, you piece of shit.”

Larry couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Frank—you don’t mind if I call you Frank, do you? Given the circumstances, I think we should be on a first name basis.” He smiled condescendingly. “I’ve been fucking your son for the past ten years.”

He guessed that if Frank had been able to physically recoil, he would have. As it was, he flinched. “You did this to him,” he said. “You turned him into this _monster_.”

“He is something, isn’t he?” Larry said, still smiling. “I didn’t do it by myself. In fact, I wanted to thank you.”

He stared at him. “ _Thank_ me?”

“For sending him to me the way you did,” he said. “There’s a quality that Michael and I have, and that quality is inborn, you can’t learn it—a spark, or maybe an _ember_ , if you will. You can nurture it, though, and you did. You gave it oxygen, let it grow, until he was so angry, so perfectly, gorgeously, destructively angry, and just _looking_ for a way to let that fire out.” He exaggerated a shiver. “It was my pleasure to provide.”

“You took advantage of him,” Frank snarled.

“Of course I took advantage of him,” Larry said, eyebrows rising. “He was just what I wanted. Young, attractive, resourceful, brilliant, incredibly pissed off and ready to burn down the world, if only someone would show him how.” He stood, fondly remembering those first few months, carefully cultivating Michael’s attraction to him. “That’s why I’m thanking you.”

“You’re not going to get away with this.”

Larry gave him an amused look. “I don’t think you understand, Frank,” he said. “I already have.”

\---

“Michael, you’ve got to listen to me,” Frank pleaded, once Michael returned, after another forty minutes. “Don’t listen to this fucking pervert. You don’t want to do this.”

Michael arched an eyebrow at Larry. “You told him?”

“He warned me away from touching you.” Larry shrugged. “What can I say, I thought it was funny.”

He snorted, heading for the table. “I’ll bet.” 

“What kinds of goodies did you bring?” Larry asked, purposely crowding Michael’s personal space as he opened the briefcase. He rested a hand on his lower back, pinching lightly at the bruise there. 

Michael licked his lips. “I think you’ll approve.” He splayed it open for him to see.

Larry _did_ approve: several knives, of varying blade types and lengths; a couple of old stand-bys, like pliers, a bone saw, and a tooth extractor; there were even a few novelties, including a couple he hadn’t seen before. “And when did you get _this_?” he asked, pointing to one such device.

“Last time we were in Russia,” Michael said through a grin. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I love it.”

“You want to pick? To start with, I mean.”

“One of the knives. It’s good to go with the classics first.”

Michael picked up one of the blades, the metal glinting in the light, lethally sharp. Settling back in his chair to watch, Larry only wished he’d thought to bring popcorn.

\---

It lasted three days. Three days of Frank’s increasingly incoherent screams and pleas for mercy, three days of watching Michael put everything Larry had ever taught him to use, three days of terrible, gruesome, blood-spattered gore.

Larry had never been so giddy.

“I think it’s time,” Michael said, as he stepped back to survey his handiwork. Frank was missing an eye, an ear, several teeth, all his fingernails, a few toes; one of his arms was visibly broken, and every inch of visible skin was covered in cuts, burns, or bruises. 

Frank let out a quiet, pitiful moan. It made them both smile.

Larry handed him a knife. “Here you go, kid.” 

He watched as Michael stared down at his father. “See you in hell, Dad,” he said, and slit his throat.

Larry grinned and clapped his hands together. “I’ll get the lye.”

“I’ll get this to the sink.” Michael nudged Frank’s corpse with his foot.

Larry felt like whistling.

\---

“Where to next?” Michael asked from the passenger seat, eyebrows lifting curiously.

Oh, he was _eager_. Larry smirked and tilted his head. “We got a few job offers while we were in Miami,” he said. “Portland, Austin, and D.C.”

Michael grinned at him. “You picked D.C., didn’t you?”

“You know it.” Larry smirked. “Sex, politics, intrigue—what’s not to love?”

“The sad thing is, Larry, in another life, you probably made one hell of a politician.”

He shuddered exaggeratedly. “I hope not.” Glancing over at the sly grin playing about Michael’s lips, he asked, “So, kid, you feel better?” 

The grin turned bright and full. “Much.”

Larry grinned back, humming to himself. Vacation time was over.


End file.
